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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24795535">Milk and Ale</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarlotus/pseuds/solarlotus'>solarlotus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Finan POV, Finan is caring, Finan is the only one who can look after Uhtred, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Battle, Uhtred is battered and bruised, Uhtred is grumpy, life long love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:55:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,559</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24795535</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarlotus/pseuds/solarlotus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Finan and Uhtred have returned from their adventures in the south with Uhtred somewhat worse for wear. Uhtred needs to recover but is a bad patient. Finan nurses him through his physical and emotional pain.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eadith/Finan/Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Finan/Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Uhtred/OFC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Milk and Ale</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>After reading Sword of Kings, the latest book in the series I felt I had to write this as Uhtred really does have a rough time. I have avoided any spoilers, you won't learn of character deaths, who's on the throne etc here. The OFC is a character from the book, but as Finan looks set to be with Eadith in the show I've kept this pairing and put the OFC with Uhtred which book readers will understand. None book readers can just treat her as a regular OFC, she's only referred to.</p>
<p>Big thank you to Lancette who read the first draft and gave me some useful feedback and to the other TLK fic writers and readers who have been so encouraging and inspiring.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘I’m not a cripple, woman!’ Uhtred snarls, snatching the cup off Eadith and spluttering as he takes a sip. ‘Milk? What am I, a child now?’</p>
<p>‘You are sick, lord,’ Eadith says patiently to the old bugger. He’s been determined to be foul to everyone all morning, there are times when I could smack him as easily as I could say a prayer for him. God preserve me, he tries me at times. I touch my cross at the thought of hitting him. I have never hit Uhtred in temper and I pray I never will.</p>
<p>‘Goats piss will not cure me!’ he shouts, shoving the cup back at her, splashing it on the blankets. My wife has the patience of a saint, but I can see her rolling her eyes even though I stand in the doorway watching my wife try to tend my … well, what do I call Uhtred? Lord? Lover? Companion? Friend? He is all of these things to me, handsome bastard he still is too, even with a scowl and a new scar. I like his scars. In Ireland you are no warrior without battle scars. Smooth faces are for women and boys. Uhtred and I have faces lined with the scars and lines of age and a hundred shield walls.</p>
<p>‘Uhtred,’ I say in a low voice, warning him. He looks up and sees me and at least has the grace to lower his eyes when he sees I have caught him in his fit of temper. Uhtred cannot bear to be injured, he and I are not young anymore and our foolish expedition to Lundene has tired the both of us. But Uhtred’s capture and mistreatment has taken its toll on his body. His shoulder is still pained and his body still covered in many lacerations and bruises that are slow to heal.</p>
<p>‘She is feeding me child’s food,’ Uhtred complains from his bed which sits in the best chamber in the fortress. His head sticks out of furs making him look like an angry bear, he has allowed his new woman to comb his hair loose and it makes him look wild; it is frizzy from his braids a mix of grey with age and yellow from the soap he uses to colour it. His beard is unbraided too, the beads he wears in it on the table beside his bed.</p>
<p>‘You have the best food in Bebbenbugh to recover your strength,’ I tell him, perching on the other side of his bed from Eadith and reaching into the furs to put my hand on his arm, I feel him relax as my hand sits on his forearm. Stupid mad bastard, he knows I would tell him this too. Eadith has folded her arms and is scowling at him. The feather mattress sinks under my weight as I lean into him, it’s a luxury we find it hard to get used to after so many years of sleeping on straw and much worse.</p>
<p>‘I think he preferred the stale bread from the ship,’ she says idly.</p>
<p>Uhtred looks between us, his face like a beast. anyone else would be afeared, but I know him too well, he’s angry with himself for making the oaths that cost lives, for leading his men into danger, for letting himself be caught and injured. He is angry the children are gone, anger is Uhtred’s grief. I know this because we are the same; I have the pride of a prince, he has that of a lord. his people were kings once and I was too. We Irish have a strong pride, we are mad in battle and savage in vengeance. When I hack and slash at men in shield wall it is my grief at all I have lost that burns my blood, anger got me through three harsh winters at the oar before I met Uhtred on Sverri’s ship and he gave me a reason to carry on.</p>
<p>I let my hand slip down his arm and take his hand, not lightly, but firmly in mine. Uhtred does not need more women’s touches, he has Eadith and now Benedetta fussing over him day and night, praying for him, arguing over the best poultice to use on his shoulder. Benedetta even sent a priest to him, I almost felt sorry for the poor bastard, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone leave a room so fast.</p>
<p>‘Get him some ale,’ I tell Eadith. ‘We have earned it. What a man needs to recover from battle is …’</p>
<p>‘Tits and ale,’ Uhtred says with me. We laugh together and I squeeze his hand. We always say it, tits and ale and you can recover from anything.</p>
<p>‘And I suppose Benedetta will be providing the tits?’ Eadith asks archly. She is not really cross with Uhtred, she hates seeing him hurt like this. My wife loves Uhtred, I love the old bugger so much it would be impossible to be with me if she did not. I cannot remember a time when I didn’t love him, though I know there must have been one as we had not met until I was enslaved.</p>
<p>‘I am in no condition to hump her,’ Uhtred complains miserably. I laugh, remembering his pretty cock in my hand a few hours ago. God love him, the man can be half dead and still get it up, we’ve gone at it bloodied and bruised, half mutilated from battle. I smirk inwardly, that maybe it’s just for me, that special intimacy, through tears and pain and heartache as we hold each other, desperate to prove we’re alive and there’s something else besides the throbbing pain of wounds and the butchery of battle every time you close your eyes.</p>
<p>Eadith looks at me with mock outrage.</p>
<p>‘It’s different…’ Uhtred protests.</p>
<p>‘What he means,’ I say conspiratorially to Eadith. ‘Is that we’re happy to ride the old git and give him a pity fuck, but Benedetta is expecting Uhtred the Dane Slayer, Uhtred the Wicked, Uhtred the <em>Swordsman</em> of Bebbanbugh,’ I loom over him at this and he growls at me, Christ I want him here and now, just him and me. ‘So she’s going to take her and her pretty tits off back to Italy if he just lies there and says faster, Finan, move over I want to see Eadith’s tits, while we avoid his bad shoulder.’</p>
<p>We all laugh. ‘Our relationship is one big pity fuck,’ Uhtred says squeezing my hand. It’s true as well, what started as a desperate roll in the grass as newly freed slaves so lost we never thought we’d see a woman again has never really stopped. But it is so much more and the burning look he gives me now tells me all I need to know.</p>
<p>‘I’ll get you ale,’ Eadith relents, standing up and pressing a kiss to Uhtred’s forehead and to mine. I watch her leave, close the door and listen until her footsteps die away.</p>
<p>We are quiet for a few moments and I lie by his side, still holding his hand. This room has a fire and it is warm, I am glad of it for Bebbanbugh is cold. The northern sea brings icy winds that bite your skin and chill the bones.</p>
<p>‘What is that?’ I ask incredulously, noticing a very ornate scroll on the table beside Uhtred’s bed.</p>
<p>‘It is a passage from the gospel of St Luke apparently.’ Uhtred is trying to keep his voice even. I know before he tells me it is from Benedetta, he would never accept it from a priest. ‘Benedetta thinks it could be healing.’ I am laughing. Uhtred has had Christian women before but I don’t think any have foisted a bible on him. ‘Finan!’</p>
<p>‘Have you seen her tits yet?’</p>
<p>‘She has great tits,’ he smirks.</p>
<p>‘Worth St Luke’s gospel?’</p>
<p>‘Worth a gospel.’</p>
<p>‘Maybe if you tell her you’ve been baptised three times she’ll lift her skirts for you,’ I tease him.</p>
<p>‘I tried. She thinks I’m a hell bound heathen.’</p>
<p>I lean over and pick up the scroll, it is nice enough work, but nothing to the scrolls Alfred kept in Winchester. I still cannot believe Uhtred accepted it, he is more smitten with Benedetta than I thought. She is a pretty girl, his Italian, a slave girl rescued from Queen Eadgifu’s service. Our years of slavery have given us a hatred for slavers and a soft heart for the poor souls in chains. Uhtred likes rescuing people and he likes a pretty face, his women are usually too skinny for my taste though. I like to grab on to something when I’m ploughing a woman, Eadith is a fine woman, in body and mind. I am a lucky man indeed. I wonder if Benedetta knows of our arrangement and what she will make of it should he tell her.</p>
<p>‘I won’t give you up for her,’ Uhtred tells me, sitting up. The blankets have fallen down and he is bare chested but for the silver hammer at that hangs at around his neck.</p>
<p>I laugh, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. ‘I know,’ I say, picking up a pot of lanolin from the table. ‘Let me put this on.’</p>
<p>He nods, compliant at last. I don’t know why Eadith and the priests try to treat him. He snarls and snaps at all of them like an angry terrier. Uhtred and I have always tended each other’s wounds. The only other person he listen to besides me is the Danish skald who he has allowed to nail a bulls foot to the door after sacrificing the beast. I don’t ask too much, the old gods have a lot of power in the north, Uhtred knows how to please them and I don’t want to be parted from him in the next life so I pray that I can reach Valhalla because I know heaven is closed to me.</p>
<p>‘This reminds me of Loidis,’ Uhtred says as I smear lanolin on his arms and chest, where dozens of fresh scars still mar his skin. I inhale deeply, the smell of the lanolin taking me back to the tavern where Hild had handed us a pot to rub into our wounds from the slave ship so many, many years ago. My face and ankles were still raw, Uhtred had taken the pot from Hild and tenderly rubbed it into my wounds, soothing their rawness, easing my pain.</p>
<p>‘Thank the Lord things aren’t that bad,’ I say softly, remembering those dark days when I’d lost every shred of dignity and status I had. All I had in the world was Uhtred. I was afeared he’d find out what I was and abandon me in disgust. He had such powerful friends, I had not one soul, except this lord who curled into my side at night and begged in whispers that I would not leave him when he thought I was sleeping then held me tight when I woke screaming and shaking with nightmares, stroked my hair and beard, promised me loyalty and vengeance.</p>
<p>‘We are old, Finan, then we had our whole lives, now what waits for us but slow death?’</p>
<p>‘Tits and ale,’ I tell him, but he doesn’t smile this time. ‘Come, It’s not a bad life.’ I never expected to live this long, I once told Uhtred a wise woman told my mother I would live a long life when I was born, she did too, but I would never have believed it. I was born a prince, I have been a slave. Now I command a castle and hundreds of men, I am married to a good woman, I have many sons and I serve my greatest friend under no oath or sworn fealty, but out of love and honour.</p>
<p>‘I would not have it without you,’ Uhtred says softly.</p>
<p>He is not himself, lines crease his face, it is grey and worn, not just with age, but with his cares. I sit him up and begin to braid his hair. Damn his Italian, Uhtred dresses like a Dane, he always has. I will not have him poured into some Saxon costume to live out the evening of his life. He is the greatest warrior in the land and he will look like it. Uhtred shifts to make it easier for me. We have long braided each other’s hair. Women have tried from time to time, but there are things warriors do for each other and this is one of ours.</p>
<p>‘I would never have left you,’ I tell him. I would rather have died than left him behind. His anguished face as he shouted at me to leave in the barley field flashes before me and I close my eyes briefly before leaning forward to kiss him softly. ‘You are my life.’</p>
<p>‘Don’t leave me now,’ he says and I don’t. I hold him and we cry, for the children and the men we lost, for the pain of it all.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>It is evening and I am in the battlements looking out at the sea. The moon is rising over the water, casting a silvery glow on the rippling waves. I can feel the wind whipping up even though it has been a warm day, as far as Bebbenbugh is ever warm, and shiver slightly. I should go in, Eadith is expecting me. Uhtred is no doubt occupied with Benedetta’s attentions whether he wants them or not. I will rescue him before nightfall.</p>
<p>I do not turn at the sound of footsteps behind me, expecting them to be one of the men, so I am surprised to be grabbed around the waist. My hand flies to my seax before I hear Uhtred’s laughter.</p>
<p>‘You are still fast, Finan the Agile,’ he says as I relax.</p>
<p>‘Do not sneak up on people on watch,’ I tell him. He looks himself again, his hair and beard braided and tied up with beads revealing the tattoos on his skull and charcoal around his eyes. Every bit the pagan warrior. The skald was with him this afternoon, I don’t know what they did, but herbs were burnt, priests muttered and clutched their crosses in the corridors and when I went in to his chamber there was a pool of blood on the stone floor. Uhtred still has some smeared on his forehead now. But he seems much happier and looks healthier.</p>
<p>‘You are not on watch, there are only seagulls.’</p>
<p>‘There are only seagulls because the Danes know I am guarding you,’ I tease. ‘Is Benedetta not praying over you?’</p>
<p>‘I told her I was cured so she never needs to bring a priest near me again.’</p>
<p>‘I prayed for you too,’ I tell him, touching my cross.</p>
<p>‘You’ve prayed for me for years, that’s why I’m still here.’ I see him looking up at the sky for a sign. A puffin flies past, that is good, Uhtred will take that as a sign from the gods, his gods. ‘I pray for you too, Finan, every day.’ He touches the hammer around his neck, sending a prayer to his mysterious and ancient gods as I send a silent prayer to mine and his; please do not let us be parted, in this life or the next.</p>
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